


In the Rain

by indifferentyoongi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bickering, But no angst as per usual, Enjoy folks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, My favorite minbin tag, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 16:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20915360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indifferentyoongi/pseuds/indifferentyoongi
Summary: "How have you been, hyung? Dating anyone?”Minho shook his head.“Changed that leaky faucet in the guest bedroom?”Minho shook his head.“Used your vacation days at work?”Minho shook his head.“What the fuck, Lee Minho, what have you been doing these past five years?”“Enjoying this city without you in it, mostly.”Minho stared.Changbin stared.The waitress silently sat down their main dishes, warily looking between them.Minho’s first piece of meat went into Changbin’s bowl, and the small, ensuing grin said ‘thank you’ when neither of them wanted to break their silly stand-off first.So much had changed that Minho didn’t say—a joke always more tempting than the truth—but what remained constant only became clear to him now. Minho had spent the last five years undeniably bored.--Or, Minho's best friend's little brother returns home to Korea after 5 years abroad, and everything he thought he knew--about Changbin, about himself--changes.





	In the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by the drama "Something in the Rain," but there are few similarities besides the general setup; fear not, dear reader, no prior knowledge is necessary to enjoy this story. You won't be missing any in-jokes or especially insightful allusions. I simply could not stop thinking about minbin while watching this drama over the summer, and here we are!
> 
> Also, everyone is aged-up considerably, as the tags suggest, but it is most pertinent to know that Jisung is Changbin's older brother in this au. Minho and Jisung are the same age (33) while Changbin is six years younger (27). If age differences or dynamic swaps make you uncomfortable, please be mindful of this. 
> 
> That is all. Happy reading!

Much of Minho’s life had changed in the last fifteen years. He graduated from university, worked two dead-end jobs, landed one not-dead-yet job, adopted one cat which turned into three, moved into a one-bedroom apartment which turned into a two, which turned into a house and a mortgage—messy and meddling roommates, barely-distinguishable shades of boxed-brown hair color, recycled hand-me-down kitchenware finally all left behind for something brand new, all things to call his own.

He was 33 now, his younger self but a memory kept in framed childhood photos in the attic. Odd, how aging felt like molting, even though reptiles he was not. How many times had Minho shed his old self, left remnants of his imprint behind, in beds of ex-lovers, desks of old jobs, breezes of overgrown backyards?

His life was mostly steady now, a routine as comfortable as driving familiar hometown backroads, and no one single part of his life was more steady than the sight of Han Jisung sitting in his kitchen on a Saturday night. 

“How’s it possible we’ve been doing this for this long and you  _ still _ forget to put soda in the fridge for me?”

“How is it possible you’re 33 years old and you’re  _ still _ pumping your dying body full of sugar every single day? I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“ _ Dying _ ?” Jisung shot back, incensed, from his place at a table he knew full well it was his job to set. “I’ll have you know I’m in the prime of my life.”

Minho turned away from the steam of boiling water warming his cheeks more than the half-empty glass of wine sitting amongst discards of vegetables and unwanted plastic packaging. 

“You’re single, your sleep schedule sucks, you choose dessert over going to the gym  _ every time _ , and you can’t read more than five pages of a book without picking up your phone.” 

“SO DO YOU.” 

Minho smiled, a pair of tongs held out like a comedian’s glass of scotch. “I didn’t say I wasn’t  _ also _ dying.” 

“If I put the idea in your head, you’ll skip the gym for cake, too.”

“I’ve already agreed with you, you don’t have to keep going.”

“I sent you an article the other day and you asked me for the TLDR twenty seconds after you read the message.”

“Han Jisung if you don’t shut up and set the table I’m not serving you this food and you won’t eat anything with nutritional value for another week.”

“Yes,  _ dad. _ “

As soon as the clanging of bowls and glasses and chopsticks settled down behind him, Minho filled the room once more: “I imagined I would have been a dad by this age, actually.”

Jisung sputtered. After all of these years of friendship, after knowing Minho since he was only eight years old, Jisung shouldn’t have been surprised when whatever thought that fluttered into Minho’s head came directly and without warning out of his mouth. 

“I can’t picture you with a kid.” 

Minho sat down the finished bowl of stew in the middle of his kitchen table. 

“I can’t picture you with a kid either, for the record.”

“I have a son already. His name is Seo Changbin.” 

The number of years it’d been since Minho had seen Jisung’s little brother shot in front of his eyes. Five whole years. That was a long time to not have someone around when you’d known them since they were adopted into your best friend’s family at two years old. 

“We’re co-parents, then.”

Jisung nose scrunched as he took his first bite. Minho worried that his seasoning was off, but Jisung’s loud  _ I refuse to have sex with you _ assuaged his worries.

“We don’t have to fuck to raise a child together, Jisung, don’t be so old-fashioned.”

An annoyed eye roll turned into something more euphoric upon the second bite he shoveled into his mouth. 

“You have to sleep on the couch and Changbin has to call you uncle instead of dad.” 

A laugh and a clink of glasses and a deal was struck. 

***

The last place Minho expected to see his newly-established nephew was a coffee shop, a block away from his work, two days after having dinner with Jisung, in which his best friend did not once mention that his brother was coming back to Korea this week. 

The last way Minho expected to see his newly-established nephew was with a pair of cold hands stretching across his eyes while he waited in line, trying desperately not to show annoyance at the person at the register asking casual questions about the menu as if it wasn’t 7am on a Monday in a busy office park. 

It was that surprise that had Minho throwing his elbow behind him. If he’d allowed himself one more second to think, he maybe wouldn’t have initiated a possible brawl, and a public one at that, but his instincts only knew self-preservation; and besides, he’d rather have needles stuck into his eyes than be touched by a stranger.

The ensuing grunt, though, sounded familiar, not stranger-like at all. Minho whipped around to see Seo Changbin hunched over, holding his stomach.

Minho’s eyes bulged for just a moment before he smiled with the relief of feeling whole again.  _ Changbin’s back _ his mind chanted, and the only way his body knew how to respond was to punch him, with purpose this time, and in his arm rather than his stomach.

“Does your hyung know you’re back? What the hell are you doing here?”

He dragged them both to the side of the early morning parade, not wanting to be pressured by the movement of the line, and pulled Changbin into a quick hug: a sorry for the elbow to his gut, a welcome back, to Korea, this city, to Jisung, to Minho. 

Changbin seemed to perk up once Minho held him at arm’s length and scanned how five years of working at his studio’s new U.S. branch had treated him. He simultaneously preened and squirmed under the attention: that smile was one Minho knew well. 

He used to know everything about Changbin, actually, as much as he knew of Jisung. Even when Changbin became a teenager and no longer thought it was cool to have a brother in college, Minho and Jisung made it home to watch his talent shows, to take pictures of him before the big school dance, to see the midnight premiere of their favorite movie franchise. 

It was only really when Changbin left for his job that Minho felt a hole in that which had always been. Reliable, consistent,  _ persistent _ Seo Changbin, suddenly gone. 

“I was hoping to have a few days of peace and quiet before I told him my final project wrapped up early. You know how he can get.”

“You could have gone to another coffee shop when you realized I was here. Why not avoid me, too?”

“I know how  _ you _ get. You only text me when you purposely want to annoy me. Hyung doesn’t even realize how obnoxious he’s being—he’s way more dangerous. Besides,” Changbin lowered his head and sent puppy dog eyes at Minho through his lashes. “When I ask you to go out for dinner, you’ll actually take me to a restaurant—Jisung hyung will force  _ me _ to cook for  _ him _ .” 

Changbin really did know him way too well. The easiest way to get Minho to agree to something was to commiserate in bitchy misery over someone else. Jisung was an easy and frequent target even though they both adored him more than all the other people they knew in this city collectively put together. 

“Text me later and I’ll  _ think _ about dinner. I’ll see how I’ll feel.”

“You’ll feel like you love me and like you’re very happy to have me back,” Changbin claimed with confidence. 

“We’ll  _ see _ “ Minho replied as he turned to a line three times as long as when he left it. “Buy me a coffee from that stand outside of my building and you have yourself a deal.”

“Still as self-serving as ever, hyung.” Changbin slung his arm over Minho’s shoulder as he led them out of the coffeeshop. “It’s good to be back.”

***

Minho almost blew Changbin’s cover when Jisung texted him on his lunch break and asked if he had plans after work or if he’d be up for a joint laundry session—a disgustingly domestic tradition they’d somehow picked up over the years and one for which they should have gotten out of the way the previous weekend while they were having dinner. Only then did he realize Jisung got out of cooking, almost didn’t set the table,  _ and _ forgot his laundry. He was a mess. 

_ i’m taking changbinnie out for noodles _ was typed and ready for send-off before his brain caught up with his hands. 

It was worth it, maybe, when Minho recalled the story that night at a dimly lit table and Changbin let out a whiny “hyuuuuung”. 

“I didn’t actually send it, though, so now you’re the one who owes me.”

“You haven’t even paid for the food yet and you’re already cashing in your next favor. That’s shameless.”

“You’re the most shameless person I know,” Minho retorted, and Changbin’s easy, open-mouthed laughter filling their side of the restaurant was evidence enough that he was right.

Minho watched him as he threw his head back and clamped a hand to his stomach, Changbin knowing all too well dramatics would only irritate him further. 

His hair was shorter now: buzzed at the sides with swooped bangs falling just above his eyebrow. He cheeks were fuller and his shoulders broader and his fashion sense despite all odds even worse than it was before. The Seo Changbin who left the country straight out of college—a decision too adult for the kid Minho still knew him to be at the time—was at once the exact same (attention-seeking, expressive, loud) and very much different (wine-drinker, owner of expensive watches, part-time waitress flirt). 

“I take it you didn’t bring a girlfriend back from the states, then?” Minho asked once Changbin greasily asked the poor woman which wine paired best with ‘steak and a cute smile’. 

“No, just a shit ton of social confidence, honestly. I wouldn’t have lasted more than a week if I didn’t quickly learn to put myself out there no matter how horrible my English was or how scared I was people would misunderstand my personality. I was lonely enough to see start seeing a counselor for a while before I felt comfortable enough to say ‘fuck it’ and start asking to go to the bars after work.” 

“Ah, so that’s where your liquor tastes changed.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did basically only drink mixed drinks back then didn’t I?” 

Changbin’s face showed the act of pulling the memory from its cobwebbed corner. He looked happy thinking of his younger self, but he looked even more content shifting his eyes to Minho, here and now. 

“Was the work worth it, in the end? All this time away from your home, your brother, your favorite hyung Lee Minho, having to adapt to a new culture, the horrifically long plane rides?”

“We were able to work with producers we never would have had access to here, and the beat packages are selling at higher prices to more people now. I honestly can’t complain, hyung, but since you can’t stop asking, I’m assuming you want me to tell you I missed you. Sure, yes, I thought about you everyday, I had a shrine to you in my living room, I can’t believe I’m back in your presence now.”

Minho swatted at Changbin across the table, only the tips of his fingers grazing his chest. “I just wanted to hear about your life, idiot, I wasn’t fishing for attention. What happened to the old Changbinnie who only worshiped the ground I walked on, huh?”

“Taylor swift voice: he’s dead.” 

“You are going to be dead when I call your brother over here in about five seconds,” Minho threatened, but Changbin must have managed to pick up faster reflexes in a slower time zone because Minho only had time to think about reaching for his phone before it was firmly within Changbin’s grasp. 

“All bark, no bite, as per usual. You know, we’ve talked enough about me, hyung, how have you been? Dating anyone?” 

Minho shook his head. 

“Cats taken over your entire apartment and deemed you their servant?” 

Minho shook his head. 

“Changed that leaky faucet in the guest bedroom?”

Minho shook his head.

“Used your vacation days at work?”

Minho shook his head. 

“What the fuck, Lee Minho, what have you been doing these past five years?”

“Enjoying this city without you in it, mostly.” 

Minho stared.

Changbin stared.

The waitress silently sat down their main dishes, warily looking between them. 

Minho’s first piece of meat went into Changbin’s bowl, and the small, ensuing grin said ‘thank you’ when neither of them wanted to break their silly stand-off first. 

As he chewed, Minho realized that with Changbin, every meal became a performance. Around every spat was a stage whisper to what neither of them would ever admit: when they were together, they always had fun. 

So much had changed that Minho didn’t say—a joke always more tempting than the truth—but what remained constant only became clear to him now. Minho had spent the last five years undeniably bored. 

***

“Hello?” 

“YOU ARE A LIAR AND A CHEAT.” 

Minho dropped his phone from where it was pinched in between his ear and his shoulder, both his hands occupied with the book he was so calmly reading just ten seconds prior.

He left it where it landed on the carpet since Jisung’s voice could be heard crystal clear from the couch. 

“HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME CHANGBIN WAS BACK?!”

Minho dog-ear’d the corner of his page and turned his head toward the floor. “He bought me coffee.”

“HOW ARE YOU SO EASILY PAID OFF? WOULD YOU ROB A BANK IF HE BOUGHT YOU AN AFTERNOON CROISSANT?”

“I’m trying to cut down on my carb intake, Jisung, don’t be ridiculous.” 

Invited by the familiar sound of Jisung’s voice, Dori, Minho’s youngest cat, appeared with soft purrs and loving grazes of her body against the couch, and if he was already going to bend down to scratch her chin, he figured he’d pick up his phone, too.

At a more appropriate volume, he heard Jisung in the middle of a sentence: “— and I don’t even think he meant to tell me that, he just let it slip that you bought him dinner to guilt trip  _ me _ into making him food today. My baby brother finally comes home and he shows up with a bag of groceries that he has no intention of helping me prepare even though he’s a grown ass man now.” 

Jisung took a breath.

“Are you done?”

Another breath. “Yeah, I think so.” 

Minho hazarded another precarious phone position as he pulled Dori into his lap. “I thought you’d appreciate seeing him in person unexpectedly like I did. We ran into each other last week totally by chance, and he said he wanted to wait until the perfect time to surprise you.”

A half-truth, but they both knew by now that Jisung was the earnestly honest one. Minho operated under no obligations. 

“Well, I definitely was surprised. I thought I was seeing a ghost.” 

“A ghost of your very alive brother?”

“Okay, a mirage, then, dictionary police.”

Minho redirected. “What did you end up making?”

There was a rustling sound, and suddenly Changbin’s voice was singing into Minho’s ears.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He hugged me for ten minutes straight and then immediately called you. Hyung, save me. Come over and cook pleeeaaasseeee, I’ll help you.” 

“Hey, you didn’t offer to help me!” Jisung yelled in the background. 

“I like Minho hyung more,” Changbin replied closer to the phone than toward his brother, it seemed, but the distance didn’t matter: they all knew he was lying. 

As much as Minho cared for and about Changbin since the moment Jisung tried to explain with the knowledge and language of an 8 year old that he was getting a brother (even though his mother wasn’t pregnant and and his brother was already two and his last name was different—details Minho’s listened to carefully but only truly understood much later), he was irrevocably an only child, unknowing of what it’d ever mean to have a sibling, someone who you know inside and out, someone whose insides are outsides in moments no one else has seen. 

Jisung and Changbin were more different than Minho was to either of them, probably, but they were bonded in a way Minho would never truly know. As a surprise to even himself, that never felt like jealousy, not when he was 6 or 26 and probably not at 36 either, once he got there. He was grateful they had each other; he was grateful he could come even this close to knowing what it was like to have a brother. 

“I’ll be there in ten,” Minho conceded.

His phone dropped once more with the sound of screaming cheers.

***

They overcompensated for a third mouth to feed by making entirely too much food, but at least Minho felt Jisung would eat something homemade in the following week. 

As he fished mismatched tupperware bowls and lids from the disaster zone of a cabinet under Jisung’s counter, Changbin did the dishes, and Jisung, for unknown reasons, sat up a board game he insisted they all play. 

“For old time’s sake,” he’d pleaded. 

“None of us have ever owned this game before, though.” 

Minho eyed the box warily. He was much too full and the sun was too close to setting in the sky and he kind of wanted to go home and take a nap. 

“He means us all hanging out together,” Changbin answered for his brother.

“Oh, don’t you go soft on me, too. There’s literally no nostalgia in playing this—“ Minho held up one finger in front of his face. “—I didn’t even have plans to come over here today—“ Two fingers. “—and I have a hot movie date for one calling my name.”

He couldn’t even add the third before Changbin was scrunching his nose. “Ew, I know we’re all adults now, but please don’t tell me about your porn watching habits, hyung.”

Minho lunged without a second thought, ready to grab him in a headlock, but Changbin’s yelp propelled him across the back of the couch in Jisung’s living room, and Minho’s lazy, oil-filled brain caught up with him before he made the stupid decision to chase. He turned back to the table, sat down as if nothing had happened, and smiled at what he would classify a win: Changbin was the one who had to fling himself over furniture, not him. 

“We can watch a movie once we’re done with the game,” Jisung offered with a wide smile as he joined Minho at the table. 

His best friend was so clearly happy to have them all together again that his cheeks would probably ache tonight. 

So, Minho bit back the truth—that he wanted nothing more than to spend his evening alone—and conceded, again, for the second time in two hours. 

***

It took all of five seconds of Minho reading the box for them all to realize the game Jisung wanted to play required at minimum four people, and it took all of an additional ten seconds for Changbin to decide that getting as close to the maximum number of eight players was his own personal goal of the night. 

Minho went from not wanting to spend the evening with two of the people he knew best in the world to spending the evening with four strangers. 

“I’m surprised we hadn’t met any of you before Bin went to the U.S.,” Jisung started once the incessant doorbell ringing stopped and everyone was crammed around his dining room table. 

“We were always working on different parts of a project here, but once we were all in the same hellscape over there, we kind of banded together,” the one sitting across from Minho answered. 

He was tall and slim but incongruously nervous, as if he should have been small enough to cower in a corner. Despite the fidgeting of his fingers, he smiled easily, pouted even easier; Minho had no choice but to follow as his face showed every single emotion that danced behind his eyes. A distraction, it became apparent, when Changbin kicked him under the table before repeating what must have been for the second time: “you start the introductions, hyung.” 

“What is this, a business meeting?” Minho huffed, but he announced his name and his title as Changbin’s most handsome oldest hyung regardless. 

After Jisung made a show of reaching across the table to pinch Changbin’s cheek during his own introduction, the others revealed themselves to be Seungmin, Woojin, Chan, and Hyunjin. 

They seemed nice enough, especially considering Changbin called them over to play a game that required some prior knowledge of everyone participating, which none of them had. 

Woojin didn’t miss a beat once Jisung explained the rules—each player chooses a question to answer about someone else, writing their answers on a response sheet to be kept from the owner until a big reveal at the end: 

“This makes it almost even more fun,” Woojin claimed. “We don’t know each other that well, so we’re really going to have to answer based on instinct and first impressions alone.” 

Minho wondered if he was able to mask his nerves more easily than Hyunjin. He wasn’t interested in strangers making assumptions about him; simultaneously, he didn’t want to feel seen or unseen. 

But Changbin elbowed him in the shoulder to send over a mischievous grin, and he decided maybe Jisung’s dumb game was worth it if only he could tease their dongsaeng in front of his friends. 

And so that’s what he did. 

For the first round, he uncaringly chose a random question and answer for everyone else at the table, even Jisung. Minho only made an effort once Changbin’s sheet was passed to him, and his leg bounced with anticipation as it became Changbin’s turn to read his answers aloud. 

“Okay, the card says ‘How would I die?’ and the answer is ‘My dog vores me.’” 

Hyunjin’s initial sputter turned into a cough at the dejected look on Changbin’s face, and while Chan laughed outright, Woojin looked more cautious, unsure of the dynamic playing out before him. 

“I don’t even have a dog, you idiot.” Changbin recovered as quickly as he was offended. He ruffled a hand through Minho’s inadvertently shaggy hair despite the scowl forming just below. “You’re the closest thing to a puppy dog here, hyung, you going to be the one to vore me?” 

Woojin seemed to decide on the dynamic then. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead and his mouth turned in an emphatic  _ damn, okay _ . 

Jisung’s were knitted together. Bewildered. Disturbed. Discontent. 

“Minho, why don’t you read yours out next? Please save you both from yourselves and from all of us.” 

He turned an amused smile to his own sheet, finding satisfaction in everyone’s reactions even if Changbin, in his usual way, bit back without a second thought. 

“The question was ‘How did I lose my virginity?’” Minho narrated, “and someone answered ‘Does over-the-clothes heavy petting count?’”

Seungmin could not hold back his howl, and Jisung had the audacity to high-five his baby brother in triumph—Changbin’s cocky grin gave himself away—despite Minho knowing to the day the last time  _ he’d _ had sex. Hypocrite. 

“You’re all dead to me,” Minho conceded, for the third time tonight, but with the least tenacity of all. 

Now, the entire table was at his mercy. 

By the end of the second round, he’d accused Hyunjin of being a furry, Woojin of not being able to read, Seungmin of still wetting the bed, Chan of having no friends (quite the opposite of the truth, he found out, once the table protested), and Jisung of being in love with him (literally the opposite of the truth, but that didn’t stop Jisung from leaning over and making horrific kissy faces far closer than Minho was interested in). 

With a stiff arm to Jisung’s face, Minho prompted Changbin to go. 

“‘What’s in my search history?’ was the question, and I can only assume my least favorite hyung Lee Minho answered, ’ball hair scratching ASMR.’ You sick fuck.” 

“I’m learning  _ so _ much about Changbin hyung tonight,” Seungmin wheezed out, seemingly ignoring the fact that he was rivaling Minho in the amount of dirt he was kicking over to every single one of his friends in each round. Minho might have made up random funny stuff, but Seungmin seemed to be telling the truth.

In the U.S., Minho learned, Changbin had thrown up in the backseat of an Uber; Hyunjin had talked shit about their boss while she was standing directly behind them; Woojin had a one-night stand. Chan was the only one at the table who seemed consistently spared, but that didn’t stop Changbin from feeling singled out. 

“Why are my sheets the most offensive, I invite you over to  _ my home _ —“ Jisung interjected to clarify that this was his house. “—feed you  _ my snacks _ —“ Minho interjected to clarify he bought those snacks last week. “—and this is how you treat me.” 

“You’re the only person every single one of us knows,” Woojin reasoned. 

“See, this is why you should only have one friend. Minho is the only person who knows all my secrets, and he’s not even using them against me tonight, the absolute angel.”

Jisung would regret saying that, an hour later, when Minho decided to give Changbin a break so he could unleash on his best friend. 

Minho would regret doing that, only five minutes later, when Jisung decided to unleash all of his own secrets to the table.

Kim Seungmin, it appeared, infected them both. 

***

“So tonight I learned you have an arm thing,” is how Changbin filled the silence of Minho’s car when they finally ceased fire farther into the evening than any of them would have assumed they’d have kept playing. He offered to drive Changbin home, but if this was his idea of conversation, Minho was prepared to regret his kindness. 

“Your brother  _ thinks _ I have an arm thing because all of one time I mentioned something about a random actor in this movie I watched.”

“The more vague you are, the more I think it’s true.”

Minho turned up the radio in answer. 

That didn’t deter Changbin. 

“And what is up with you sleeping naked? That’s unhygienic.” 

“How often did I sleep over at your house as a kid? You’d know if I sleep naked. Jisung was just trying to embarrass me.” 

“That was then. This is now. What else have I missed out on?”

Minho’s eyes were on the road, but even if he could look over at Changbin, he wouldn’t be able to read his expression as they wound down poorly lit side streets. 

“Much more interesting things than my sleeping habits, I promise.” 

“Like what?” 

“Hmm.” Minho thought for a moment. “I got a tattoo.”

“WHAT? When?”

“Last year.”

“Why?” 

“Why not?”

“Where?”

“Absolutely none of your business.”

“ _ Hyuuuuung _ . Come on. Why would you even bring it up if you weren’t going to show me?” 

“I like annoying you, Seo Changbin.” 

He heard Changbin huff; he didn’t need lights to sense his mood shift even further. 

“Honestly, I thought that might have changed at least a little bit in all this time. You know I’m not a little kid anymore, right? You can treat me like a friend?”

“You like annoying me, too. This is how we work. And I annoy Jisung, too, and he’s my best friend. You’re not making any sense right now.” Minho tried even harder to see his face through the dark. “Why are you having an existential crisis, Bin?”

Changbin took a moment to think before he answered quietly. “I’m just tired, I think. Jet lag is still a bitch.” 

Too stark of a contrast to the smirks and snarls and snide remarks from inside of Jisung’s dining room. 

“Hey.” Minho reached out for Changbin’s arm to stop him from getting out of the car, seemingly without a word, once they’d pulled up at his apartment complex. “Get some rest, okay? You can sleep in as long as you need tomorrow. I can even bring some stuff by if you need anything, just text me, okay?”

Changbin nodded, and Minho wasn’t convinced, but he let his dongsaeng go anyway. 

He wanted to text him as soon as he saw the apartment door close, but he figured that would get him nowhere; he equally couldn’t fall asleep himself knowing that Changbin was upset with him, even if he didn’t know why. Maybe more so because he didn’t know why. 

**Lee Minho:** **  
** On my right thigh 

Assuming Changbin wouldn’t reply until he’d slept his irritability off, Minho put his phone down on his nightstand. No sooner did it hit the wood did it buzz with a notification. 

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** Huh?

**Lee Minho:** **  
** The tattoo. I got it on my thigh. It’s kind of high up so you can’t really see it even if I’m wearing shorts. I couldn’t show you in the car. 

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** Send me a picture. I want to see. 

**Lee Minho:** **  
** I’m in bed. The light’s out. 

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** ): 

**Lee Minho:** **  
** [file attached]

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** :) 

***

There were no other unexpected gatherings of strangers and card games in the ensuing couple of weeks. Things were back to normal for Minho: work, home, cats, shower, Saturday laundry and dinner with Jisung (and now Changbin); work home cats, Saturday laundry and dinner with Jisung (and now Changbin). 

He still didn’t know exactly what had set Changbin off in the car, but their teasing relationship appeared to have had something to do with it, and Minho wasn’t in the business of purposefully making his friends and family uncomfortable. He always thought they were having fun, together, both in on all the jokes. And maybe they still were—Changbin had texted him more than a couple of times in between each Saturday dinner—but he didn’t want to test it: too scared of the consequences if he was wrong. So, Minho made a concerted effort not to bug Changbin within and around their typical routine. He fed him, washed his clothes, asked safe questions, listened to answers told with lethargic late night laughter. Easy. Normal. 

As were most aspects of his life. 

At work, he sat in the break room of his office with his usual boxed lunch, during his usual mid-day break, catching up on the same usual, cynical news cycle, while navigating rotating topics of small talk with his closest colleagues. 

“When the hell is this rain going to let up?” Felix asked as he plopped into the seat next to Minho, across from Jeongin. “It’s been more than a week.”

“I think it’s going to clear up by the time we get off work and not start up again until Friday.” Checking the weather app on his phone was also part of Minho’s lunchtime ritual. 

“What a welcome treat for the weekend,” Jeongin replied sarcastically. 

“Speaking of a welcome treat. Seo Changbin long time no see!”

Minho looked up from his Twitter feed to see Felix wrapping someone he could only assume was actually Changbin in a vice-like hug. In the middle of his break room. On a Tuesday. 

“Who’s that?” Jeongin whispered. 

He’d joined the company just a couple of years ago, whereas Felix was here back when Changbin would stop by frequently enough to bug Minho for a ride home from his nearby college campus that they developed what was honestly an easier rapport than Minho had with Felix himself. 

Before Minho’s brain could catch up to the sight before him (both usual and unusual at the exact same time) to explain any of that to Jeongin directly, Changbin was bowing with an introduction. 

Once finished, he turned to Minho, the only one of the four of them still seated.

“Oh.” Changbin stared at the plastic bowl filled with rice and chicken on the table in front of him. “I was hoping to catch you before you started eating. Want to go get lunch, hyung? You can save the rest of that for after work.” 

“I bring lunch so I can save money and yet you want me to buy us both more food?”

Changbin scratched at the back of his neck. “I was actually planning on paying. My treat.”

His eyes were hopeful, so clearly hopeful, but Minho was already full and his break would be over sooner than a proper meal would allow and he didn’t want to go back out in the rain anyway. 

“Why don’t we do something after work instead?” He offered. “No food though—the only reason we’ve been together since you got back was to eat. Your choice, but no food. And you’re still paying, no matter what we do.”

Changbin rolled his eyes, but good-naturedly; his mood didn’t seem to shift. 

Minho let go of tension he didn’t realize he was holding in his knees scrunched together under the table. “Just text me when you’re on your way over, and I’ll meet you at the entrance.”

“Is he my age?” Jeongin asked once Changbin had left them with a wave and a nice-to-meet-you. 

“Closer to your age than mine, yeah. Why?”

Jeongin shook his head, shoved a bite of beef into his mouth. “Just wanted to know how I should address him.”

“Formally, since you don’t know each other,” Minho replied plainly. 

“Okay, Mr. Posessive, I won’t make friends with someone clearly nice and approachable who works nearby  _ just _ because he’s yours. No worries. I’ll stay back.”

Putting down his phone, Minho blinked at his co-worker. “What?”

Felix’s eyes followed between them when Jeongin only stared back in response. 

“I was just being realistic, I don’t care if you befriend him, just don’t be rude until you’re actually friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” 

“Okaaaaaay,” Felix added, and left the room. 

***

Seeing that the rain had indeed stopped by the end of his work day, Minho left his umbrella where it laid beside his desk and made his way down the atrium staircase with only his work bag and his phone. 

It wasn’t difficult to spot Changbin leaning against the entrance, one leg bent back to rest his foot flat on the trimming, phone in hand: Minho felt like he was in a drama, seeing the protagonist’s love interest pick them up for the first time. 

Except this was his best friend’s brother. 

And not a drama. 

He made Changbin lurch with a loud  _ So where we headed? _ asked right next to his ear. 

As expected, he recovered quickly. “Well, it’s 6pm on a Tuesday after a full day of work and we’re both grown ass men, so, naturally, we’re going to an arcade.” 

Minho looked down at his pale blue dress shirt and slacks. Changbin’s producing job didn’t have as strict of an expectation, but he still looked quite polished in tight fitting black jeans and tucked in T-shirt. 

“In these clothes? You sure? We’re already going to be out of place enough. They’ll kick us out if I show up in loafers.” 

“Hmmm.” Changbin seemed to sincerely think about it. “My apartment is on the way. We can stop there.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Bin, but I haven’t gotten any shorter since you’ve been gone. I don’t think you’re going to have anything that will fit my broad shoulders, lean torso, and thick thighs.”

Silently, Changbin pocketed his cell phone and turned to leave the building. 

“Hey—okay, that was dramatic, but I am serious,” Minho raced out as he fought to catch up. “We don’t have to waste time stopping if you’re not going to have anything that will work anyway.” 

With a glance thrown over his shoulder, Changbin replied, “You have any other plans tonight?” 

Minho shook his head.

“Then don’t worry about it, hyung. You worry too much in general. It’s on the way, and we can leave your car at my place so we’re not doubling up gas usage. Win-win-win for Bin-bin-bin.” 

Minho turned directly on his heel and started walking the other way, but he only got a few paces down the block before Changbin was grabbing his arm and dragging him back in the direction of the car park. 

***

Kicking off his shoes became a secondary priority when Minho walked into an apartment that looked nothing like what he remembered of Changbin’s place. 

“When the hell did you have time to re-decorate?”

Minho had expected the college version of this 1-bedroom apartment: bare walls and secondhand furniture and pizza boxes piled in the kitchen. For Changbin’s entire first year of college, he’d slept with mismatched bedding and on his mattress which sat directly on the floor, despite Minho’s lectures on air circulation and mold. 

No, the apartment he just walked into told an entirely different story of Seo Changbin’s life. Framed albums he’d helped produce lined the walls; pictures of his parents, Jisung, and most surprisingly, Minho were stuck to the fridge with magnets he must have collected in the U.S.. Minho didn’t recognize any of the city names, but he could place the exact day that picture of him was taken. He walked to the fridge, traced his fingers along the edge. That was the day he’d graduated from college. His cheeks were pink and his smile was wide with a certain kind of relief Minho wasn’t sure he’d felt since. 

It wasn’t a group shot, and he had zero idea why Changbin would have this at all, and especially in a place where he’d see it everyday. More than once a day, even. 

Before he could decide if he wanted to ask, if he wanted to know the answer, Changbin was tugging on the sleeve of his dress shirt. “Come on, let’s find you something to wear.”

For some reason, Minho let Changbin lead him down the hallway, fingers brushing his wrist from where they clung like a collar to a leash. 

“You have a headboard?” he asked, astonished. 

Changbin  _ giggled _ and the contrast made Minho feel light headed. A man’s bedroom. A boyish laugh. 

“Yeah, hyung, I have a headboard. I might have gone on a bit of a shopping spree once I got back. I’d lived for so many years in hole in a wall that I knew wasn’t really mine and could never be permanent. Being back here, I wanted this place to feel like home, to feel like me.”

The dark red comforter, the purple lights strung around the ceiling, the bookshelf with albums and novels and trinkets, all did feel like Changbin, Minho decided. And not just the kid he knew or the man he was now trying to get to know again. This room just felt like him exactly as he was, wholly himself. Rich and bright and comfortable. 

“Hey?” Changbin waved a hand in front of Minho’s face. “Did you hear me?”

Minho tore his eyes away from the cheap, plastic figurine he remembered giving Changbin when he was in elementary school. It sat on the side of the bookshelf closest to his bed. 

“Huh?”

“I asked if sweat pants were too informal. I buy them pretty baggy, so they should fit.”

“Uh, yeah, whatever is fine.”

And it technically was fine. Minho looked in the large, full-length mirror propped against a dresser in Changbin’s closet and assessed his outfit. A plain white t-shirt hung off his collarbones and by some miracle wasn’t sticking too narrowly to his sides. 

“Why would you buy something this oversized?”

Changbin shrugged.

“When I go into the studio on the weekends when I don’t have to, like, be accountable to anyone, I usually just throw on something really comfortable.” He moved closer to Minho to evaluate the reflection alongside him. “But this looks just like a normal shirt on you, Jesus. You’re not allowed to say a  _ word _ about my body type for the rest of the night.”

Turning away from the mirror, Minho poked Changbin in the stomach where he knew he was ticklish. “You look good in everything you wear, I can’t tease you about that.”

“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” he mumbled. “Come on, we should get going. Grandpa can’t be getting back home too late.”

Instead of jabbing back, Minho allowed the exhaustion he could already feel prickling behind his eyes lead him back out of Changbin’s apartment. He imagined, for no other reason than Changbin wasn’t filling the silence between their strides, trying to keep up with his dongsaeng on a Friday night, at a bar, five drinks in, sweating on a dance floor. When Minho went through a partying stage in college, Changbin was only just entering in high school; once Changbin got there, Minho was spending all his time at work, trying desperately to get a promotion that never ended up coming at that particular job. 

It was really only now, both of them working full-time in Korea, that their lives truly overlapped, he realized. 

“You’re really in your head tonight—are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to,” Changbin said once they’d settled into his car. 

Minho looked over, surprised at the quiet of his voice and the concern in his eyes. “I’m fine, I promise. It’s just been a long day, it’ll be good to have fun and get my mind off of work.” 

He offered a smile, one that he mostly felt to be real, especially since the roles were reversed since the last time the mood dropped when they were leaving Jisung’s after game night. This time, Minho had control, and he honestly didn’t plan to make Changbin worry. 

“Me kicking your ass will definitely take your mind off things, I assure you.”

“Just drive, you dummy.” Minho used his hand to push Changbin’s cocky grin toward the road. “How much farther do we have to go anyway?”

“It’s like ten minutes down a major highway, I think.”

The GPS was up on Changbin’s phone; the automated voice supplied directions over the speakers so often that Minho barely registered what was on the radio. 

“I haven’t been out this way since before you left,” he confessed as they passed landmarks he only barely recognized. 

“Are you telling me you mostly traveled between your house, Jisung hyung’s house, and work?”

“You don’t have to say it like that. Things have calmed down a lot for me, and I think that’s only a good thing. I don’t have to worry so much anymore, about my job or finances or whatever. I’m good, Bin, really good.”

“What’s the next step, then?” 

_ Take the next right _

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“You worked your ass off for so many years when you got out of college and now things are steady, which is good, but won’t you feel restless if you have something else you’re working toward? I’m already starting to feel that way and I’ve only been settled down for a few weeks.”

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it,” Minho replied honestly. 

“Thought about dating?”

_ Turn right. Your destination will be on the left _

“I haven’t not thought about it, but I’m not really close to anyone right now. Not even kind of.”

Changbin pulled around the back of the building and ultimately had to park in the row closest to the highway, farthest away from the door. Apparently “JJ’s Arcade” was popular on weeknights, which made zero sense to Minho.

Once their seat belts were off, Changbin turned to him. “Well, maybe your new goal is to win enough tickets to buy me this expensive One Punch Man figurine they keep on the top shelf of the gift shop.”

Minho scoffed, opened his door first. “In your dreams, Seo Changbin.”

Changbin got out of the car more slowly, took his time, let the car door slam before answering, “Yeah, maybe.”

***

“Fuck, I didn’t know this was going to be a workout. I thought I was lucky you didn’t say you wanted to take me to the gym, but this is no better.”

Minho sat on a bench under a large fan, shirt sticking to his chest and sweat beading up on his forehead. He didn’t know if it was the sheer number of kids piled into this building, the electricity needed to power this many machines, or the amount of energy he was exerting trying to kick Changbin’s ass in everything they played, but he was winded, properly winded.

“Here.” Changbin passed him a water bottle he must have bought from the concessions stand while Minho was doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Guess he didn’t need a drunken dance floor at 2am to know  _ no _ , he couldn’t keep up with the kids these days. Jesus. 

“Okay, let’s play one more game and then we’ll cash in our tickets. Your choice, old man.”

Focusing more on the cool water hitting his tongue than Changbin’s words, Minho only nodded. He took a look around once he’d passed the mostly-empty bottle back to its owner. 

He could see the appeal of a place like this one. There were the usual arcade games—skee ball, pinball, pac-man, 1v1 fighting—but there were also VR simulations like mock rollercoasters, requiring you to be in a harness and without too much fried food in your belly. Minho almost thought to choose a virtual soccer game where they’d kick a ball at a screen that would then project the accuracy of their shots, but a classic lit-up platform caught his eye in the middle of the classic side of the room. 

“Rhythm game. DDR. Let’s go.” 

“Aren’t you tired, that’s going to be hard as shit,” Changbin protested, but it was Minho who was dragging him this time, warm palm wrapped around his wrist. 

“Have to end on a high note.” He jumped up on the platform and fed the machine its required number of tokens. 

Minho might not have majored in dance like he thought he would when he was in high school, but if the zumba class Jisung dragged him to every now and again had taught him anything, it was that feeling a rhythm was like riding a bicycle. 

He probably should have equally considered that Changbin was a musician—requiring him to double his efforts to actually get to the winning finale he had hoped—but he did get there, breathless and with aching thighs, eventually. 

While Changbin sulked with his shoulders sagged, Minho draped his long chain of tickets over his hair. 

“Add them to your cup already, we can collect our prizes and get home. It’s almost nine.”

“Shit, yeah, okay, let’s go.”

Even with both of their tickets combined, they didn’t have enough to get the One Punch Man figurine, but Changbin didn’t pout for too long when Minho used his own stash to buy what he knew was his dongsaeng’s favorite candy (as many pieces as his total allowed). 

“My metabolism is not like it used to be, I probably shouldn’t eat all of this, honestly,” he noted as they made their way back out the front door. 

Minho reached into the bag holding their prizes and grabbed a handful of candy to shove in his pockets. “I’ll take some to my house and you can eat it there when you come over.” 

“Hmm, so that means you’re planning on inviting me over more often? Maybe when it’s just us?” Changbin smirked in a way Minho would only interpret as  _ flirtatious _ if it had been directed at anyone else. 

“What do you want to do at my place with just the two of us?” he asked in return. A performance, like always. 

“I—holy shit”

Minho turned to see what caught Changbin’s attention. 

Outside of the arcade entrance was what could only be described as torrential downpour. The outlines of cars could barely be seen through the sheets of rain racing down toward the asphalt. 

“It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight,” Minho complained. He checked his pockets for an umbrella he knew for a fact was not there. 

“You stay here, I’ll go get the car and bring it around.”

“No, I’ll go with you. I need to cool off anyway.”

“By getting totally soaked?”

Minho grinned. “They’re your clothes, not mine. I have something dry to change into when we get back.”

With a shrug, Changbin opened the door, took a deep breath, and made a run for it. 

There was something about being in the rain that made it impossible to stay silent, Minho decided, as they both screamed their way to the car. 

It was cathartic. It was cold. 

Changbin reached into the backseat once they’d reached the safety of his car. Thankfully, he had old beach towels that definitely needed to be washed, but Minho didn’t care. 

He did almost slap around blindly when Changbin threw the towel over his head, but his annoyance soon faded when fingers soothed into his scalp. Minho sat contentedly while Changbin dried him off. Adrenaline and exhaustion and laughter and uncontrollable shivers all combined to make him compliant where he otherwise might have protested. 

When the towel was finally pushed back to around his shoulders, Minho’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright expression before him. Changbin seemed to look his entire face over while he smiled with a kind of satisfaction Minho wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. Goofy, almost. Uninhibited by expectation or pretense. It looked good on him, Minho decided, and he hoped the rain didn’t stop if that meant Changbin could continue to look this happy. 

“My turn,” he finally said once he seemed to find whatever it was he was searching for in Minho’s features. Changbin tipped his head forward, and water dripped onto his gear shift. 

Minho took the towel from around his shoulders and slung it over Changbin’s head, but he didn’t assist him otherwise. Instead, he grabbed his phone and punched in Changbin’s address. 

_ Okay, let’s go home _ the GPS announced over the speakers. 

He expected Changbin to protest, to whine, but he took the hint silently, drying his hair off himself. When he threw the towel back behind him and turned to put the car in drive, Minho thought he might look annoyed, as he often did when Minho teased him, but he only saw pink ears and stretched lips and kind eyes. 

_ Keep straight _

And so they did.

***

“Ah, it’s cold in here!” 

Changbin’s apartment was comfortably cool when they had left, but now, after being forced to leave the heat pumping in the car, Minho was shivering once again. 

He took no more than two steps into the living room before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it off over his head. 

His plan to throw the shirt directly at Changbin’s face halted in its tracks when Minho heard a cartoonishly loud gulp from across the room.

Changbin stood, rigid, eyes darting from Minho’s face to his chest to his stomach to every inch of the wall behind him and back again. 

Minho stared back, hesitantly placed a hand above his belly, expecting the punchline of a joke, the jest behind the curtain, but none came.

“I’m going to go change,” Minho finally said, when it was clear Changbin wasn’t going to say a word or move a muscle; breaking the silence only earned Minho a small acknowledging nod. 

Inside of Changbin’s bathroom, Minho took longer than he needed to. All at once, he felt he needed to warm his hands, run cool water on his face, comb through his hair, catch his breath, casually and absolutely not frantically rethink everything he thought he knew about his best friend’s brother. 

That hadn’t been what it seemed, right? 

They’d barely talked while Changbin was in the U.S., Minho not wanting to bother him while he was experiencing so much that was new, and since he’d been back, things had gone relatively back to normal, right? Nothing had changed. Not a single thing. Except for that look. In the car, in the living room. 

Minho’s stomach clenched, but he decided, resolutely, to ignore it. He was creating something out of nothing. 

So he steeled his resolve, swept his fingers through his hair once more time, and left the bathroom. 

In a fresh pair of clothes—comfortable and baggy—Changbin stood in the kitchen. When he handed Minho a cup of warm but not scolding hot tea, Minho let his shoulders relax. See, that was nothing. The arcade had fried his brain, and  _ whatever that was _ was nothing at all. 

He laughed to himself, feeling silly, and when Changbin asked what was so funny, he told him his hair was sticking up, even though it wasn’t. 

While Minho finished his tea, they chatted about Minho’s plans for that upcoming Saturday’s meal and Changbin’s work schedule, and by the time he headed for the door, ten o’clock was near. 

“Here, take this.” Changbin handed him an umbrella the same deep red as his comforter. “You just dried off, no reason to get wet again.”

Minho ruffled his hair, pinched his cheeks as thanks, and the familiar ensuing frown made  _ him _ smile at least. 

“I’ll see you Saturday?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Get home safe.”

With a nod and the  _ pop _ of the umbrella opening, Minho imagined his exit as one a dramatic and knowledgeable wizard might take.

But he had no power against the rain. It didn’t let up, and the umbrella was welcomed. 

***

When Minho got to work in the morning, he spotted his own umbrella laying so naively where he’d left it the night before. 

Unwilling to make the same mistake twice and now concerned that Changbin was with no cover from the unrelenting weather, he scarfed his lunch down in record time and used the rest of his break to make the short walk over to Changbin’s studio, serendipitously closer than even his college campus had been all those years ago. 

He’d only been here a few times, right before Changbin left for his trip, but he didn’t feel any hesitation in asking the person at the front desk how he might be able to drop something off for one of the producers. Before the man had any opportunity to respond, Jisung’s loud “Yah!” was filling the lobby. Minho turned around, surprised, to see Jisung with his arm around his brother as they both huddled beneath a jacket held up by Changbin’s forearms like a canopy above their heads. 

“Hyung?”

“Minho?” 

Minho stared at them dumbly, feeling unusually silly for being here. As if he couldn’t be. Or shouldn’t be. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Changbin said, realizing why Minho had stopped by without him having to say so. “I had another one here, actually, it was just this hyung who showed up to take me to lunch without thinking of the rain first.”

“Wait, I still don’t get it,” Jisung added, squinting his eyes at Minho’s mere existence in the lobby, but Changbin only ushered them to join him upstairs. 

Like the apartment, Changbin’s studio had been given a makeover, too. On almost every inch of every wall there was  _ something _ . More albums, sports jerseys, movie posters, shelves and desks and equipment Minho couldn’t name if his life depended on it. 

“Thanks, hyung.” He grabbed the umbrella out of Minho’s hand, and as way of explanation for Jisung, added, “We hung out after work last night both thinking the rain was stopping for good, so I gave him that to get home.”

Jisung nodded, but his eyebrows still showed confusion. “Oh, okay. Did you buy it while you were out, or?”

“No, we were at my place,” Changbin replied simply, but Minho’s stomach leapt into his throat.

“We went to the arcade, got wet, and then went back to Changbin’s to change clothes before I went home,” he raced out. 

That seemed to be a reasonable enough explanation for Jisung, who immediately expressed offense that they hadn’t invited him along. “Since when do you two have so much fun without me?”

Changbin scratched at the back of his neck—a nervous habit, Minho was realizing—and for no good reason, he imagined the towel resting there instead of his hand, wished he could see that look on Changbin’s face when he’d finished drying off. Unfiltered bliss. 

But the man before him had hair perfectly swooped over his forehead, a long earring dangling from his left ear, shoes more expensive than Minho’s car payment, probably. Dry and polished and visibly anxious. 

Minho couldn’t help but to feel like they were keeping something from Jisung, even thought they weren’t. Or, if they were, he was equally in the dark. Hands outstretched and heart racing. 

“Uh, I have to get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you had that, Bin, just in case. Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Yeah, no problem, hyung.”

Minho waved at his best friend, told himself to avoid looking at Changbin all together, but as he pulled the door shut in front of him, Changbin’s questioning eyes were the last inhabitant of the studio to imprint on his mind.

***

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** So

**Lee Minho:** **  
** So?

It was late; Minho should have been asleep.  _ Changbin _ should have been asleep. 

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** Today was weird

**Lee Minho:** **  
** Well, you’re always weird, so no surprise there

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** I’m only texting you this instead of calling or driving my ass over there because I thought you might be less likely to shoot me down with your usual jokes

Minho shot up in bed. Held his phone close to his face.

**Lee Minho:** **  
** Okay, okay. I’ll be serious. Today was weird, I agree. I shouldn’t have come to the studio unannounced. That was stupid of me. I feel bad I interrupted your time with Jisung

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** When has that ever mattered? 

**Lee Minho:** **  
** I don’t know

Changbin’s typing bubble reappeared and disappeared several times before a text finally came through. 

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** Am I making you uncomfortable?

**Lee Minho:** **  
** Why would you be?

**Seo Changbin:** ****  
Hyung’s right, we are hanging out alone more than we used to. It was always the three of us together whenever you were around. I don’t want to overstep if it’s weird for you to only be around me alone. Or if it’s going to feel weird for you to hang out with Jisung hyung after hanging out with me?    
I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Basically, you acted weird today after we hung out last night, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, and I’m trying to figure out how to make sure that doesn’t happen, basically    
Take a shot every time I say basically 

**Lee Minho:** **  
** Now you’re the one who’s joking 

**Seo Changbin:** ****  
I’m sorry I’m really fucking nervous, I get a pass   
You joke because you’re allergic to emotional vulnerability 

**Lee Minho:** ****  
Okay, first, ouch, but acknowledged   
Second, why are you nervous 

**Seo Changbin:** ****  
I don’t want to mess this up   
I finally have you back   
And I’m afraid I’m going to mess it up 

**Lee Minho:** ****  
I’m not going anywhere, Bin    
It’s not really possible to lose me

Three entire minutes went by before Minho got a reply. 

**Seo Changbin:** **  
** I could test that right here right now

Minho’s palms trembled where they held his phone. He knew what Changbin was going to say, could intuit it in every single nerve ending. His stomach tied itself in knots just like it had just one night prior. 

His bathroom pep talk wouldn’t allow him to pretend this wasn’t happening for more than a single day. 

The terrified laugh he let into the darkness caused all three of his cats to leap off the bed.

**Lee Minho:** **  
** Try me 

He didn’t take his eyes off the screen for ten entire minutes while Changbin’s side of the chat stayed still and silent. 

Feeling like he was losing all sense of sanity for first thinking it was impossible that Changbin actually liked him, and second thinking it wasn’t so impossible that Changbin actually liked him, and third that on a Wednesday night at midnight Changbin would text him to confess like they were both bumbling high school idiots, Minho let his phone fall into the blanket and dug his face into his pillow

Most insane of all was the knock he heard at his front door just a moment later. 

“No fucking way,” he mumbled to himself, jumping out of bed with little care for where he might be stepping or what brand of axe murderer he might be about to let into his house. 

Changbin didn’t have an axe. 

But he did look as terrified as Minho felt. 

“What are you—“

“I couldn’t do this over text.”

And then Changbin was kissing him. 

Restrained and hesitant for just a moment, as soon as he felt Minho’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him—their lips still connected—into his house, Changbin let himself go free.

His hands were in Minho’s hair, his teeth were pulling on Minho’s bottom lip, his toes were supporting all his weight as he pushed to make sure every part of their bodies were touching.

When he pulled back, he didn’t look at all how Minho expected. It was raining, of course it was raining, but Changbin didn’t have that smile. He didn’t look relieved or even wrecked.

Minho only saw worry. 

“Okay, there. Go ahead. Please tell me I’m an idiot for wanting to take you out to dinner and hold your stupid hand and take all of your stress away and tease you so much you kiss me just to shut me up, please tell me I’m being naive and childish and you want nothing to do with me—“

“—Bin wait—“

“OR that hyung is going to hate us both which means there’s no way we can do this and that both of our relationships with him are more important than whatever this is between us because we’re just happy to be together again and none of these are real feelings, they’re just relief and comfort and safety, nothing more.”

Changbin’s shoulders sagged: a weight lifted. 

“Do you believe any of that?” Minho asked quietly. 

“Honestly?”

He nodded.

“I believe I’ve loved you since I was old enough to know what love was,” Changbin confessed, but to the floor. “For a long time, it was just infatuation—you were always around and nice to me, well, kind of, and you were beautiful. But in college…do you want to know something pathetic? I was terrified of going to the U.S. because I was afraid I was going to miss my chance to get to know the man you were becoming. That I was going to come back and you were going to be married with three kinds or something.”

With script-like accuracy, Dori weaved herself between Changbin’s legs. 

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t have to worry about that.” He laughed, but at Dori, not at Minho. “I don’t think you ever knew any of that because I was just your dongsaeng, but I let my guard down this time, after having been away from you for so long. I was—god this is so stupid, I was just  _ happy _ , I think? I missed you, and I was happy to see you again, to be around you, to feel loved by you, even if it was different from how I knew I cared for you. And I just didn’t think better of it before I was showing all of my cards. Last night at my apartment—I was so stupid for just staring at you like I was a fucking sixteen year old boy, like who does that? What was I thinking? Of course you got weird after that, because I made it so blatantly obvious how much I wanted you. All of you. God, I’m—“

“Changbin, I really don’t want to interrupt you, but I need you to know that it wasn’t just you, yesterday, what you felt, it wasn’t just you. I—“ 

Minho didn’t have a plan for what he was about to say, but Changbin’s eyes snapping up from the floor was inspiration enough. 

“When you came back—I don’t even know how to make you know how I felt in that coffee shop, like nothing in my life had ever been right in the past five years, without you here. That’s not just familiarity or comfort of safety, even though it  _ is _ all of those things, I was getting to know a new you, in a new way, and I feel honestly terrified by just how much I like every single thing I’ve learned about you, just as much as I like every single thing I’ve remembered about you. And I don’t want to tell you to go away. I’m scared by how much I want you to stay.” 

“Hyung. If you’re fucking with me I’m never going to forgive you.”

Minho answered in the only way he thought Changbin might trust. 

He kissed him again. 

And this time, neither of them stopped until Minho’s legs knocked against the side of his bed. He sat down on the edge; Changbin climbed into his lap. 

This,  _ this _ was the look Minho was hoping to see. Not just Changbin’s ears were pink; his entire face was flushed. His pupils were wide, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. Usually, he would have squirmed under so much direct attention, but in the glow of the helpful moonlight, and more so than the helpful moonlight, Changbin only  _ beamed _ . 

Palms lovingly framing either side of his face, fingers pulling his hair back from his face, Minho pulled Changbin in for a short, sweet kiss. 

“I really like you,” he confessed. “More than I feel like I should. In your studio, I was acting weird because I felt guilty for just how much I wanted to be with you, alone, whenever I could. I don’t want you to doubt that. I know that we’ve had different experiences of loving each other throughout these years, but I don’t want you to doubt what I feel right here, right now. Okay?”

Changbin nodded before leaning in to hug his entire body around Minho. 

With Changbin’s face against his chest, arms around his neck, legs around his waist, the sound of rain outside his window, Minho finally knew the answer to Changbin’s question, of what was next in his life. 

Him. This. 

***

Both Changbin and Minho agreed that they would wait to talk to Jisung until they’d dated for at least a little while. They owed each other that much. They owed Jisung that much. 

Although they both knew it was the best course of action, it wasn’t easy sneaking around, didn’t even feel good not being able to share with him just how happy they both were. 

And, frankly, Minho knew he wasn’t making a mistake exactly five minutes after waking up next to Changbin the following morning. He’d woken up before either of their alarms, like a child excited for the first day of school, and he took all the seconds that afforded him to process what had happened, what he never expected to happen. And by the time Changbin opened his eyes, Minho was kissing him again and again and again. 

Even still, per their agreement, he filled the next two weeks spending his evenings with Seo Changbin—at the movies, at dinner, in recording studios, and in beds. He felt so downright  _ giddy _ when Changbin would pick him up from work that it was almost like they hadn’t known each other all this time. The hand that held his under the table where they met up with Changbin’s friends for drinks couldn’t have been the same that shielded his eyes in the coffeeshop all those weeks ago; the lips that traced featherlight kisses around his tattoo and whispered  _ this is prettier up close, hyung _ couldn’t have been the same that teased him mercilessly since he was old enough to talk. 

Well, he teased him mercilessly even now. 

“If Jisung hyung chokes you out, I hope you’ve left me your music collection in the will.”

They were walking home from dinner, knuckles brushing but not daring to touch in public. Tomorrow was Saturday, and Minho appreciated Changbin joking around about his upcoming talk with Jisung rather than asking him to reason out what he was most worried about. 

“I’ll leave you exactly one box of pasta and a commemorative photo of my cats.”

“Laaaaame.”

Minho knocked their shoulders together and smiled shyly at the sidewalk beneath his feet as he wondered how he was going to survive being able to properly touch his hopefully-soon-to-be-boyfriend in public if tomorrow went well. 

If he put it off, he could at least save his pride. 

But after Changbin kissed him goodnight, he fell asleep hoping for tomorrow to arrive just as soon as he closed his eyes. 

***

“Changbin isn’t coming?” Jisung asked as Minho sat down the heaping plate of grilled meat in the middle of the surrounding bowls of sides. 

“No, he’s busy with work. Just the two of us this week.”

“Since when did you know more about his schedule than I do?”

Minho’s sip of wine almost turned into a choke. As he coughed, he lamented the control he wanted to have in easing them into this conversation, but he saw no better opportunity than this one.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Jisung sat down his chopsticks and tilted his head curiously. 

“Neither of us really planned for this to happen, but for the past couple of weeks, Changbin and I have been…seeing each other. As more than friends. Dating, I guess, and we didn’t want to tell you until we knew it was serious, and I wanted you to hear it from me first that I’m—I’m falling for him. Yeah, wow, okay, I haven’t said that out loud yet, Jesus Christ. Oh man—“ 

“Whoa, calm down, Minho.” Jisung moved his chair around the table to sit next to him. He rubbed soothing circles into his back.

“This was supposed to be about me reassuring you, and now I’m freaking out. That’s the opposite effect I was going for. I promise you I’m serious about him, I really am.” 

“I’m not going to lie,” he started, and Minho’s heart sank. “I expected this might happen eventually.”

“ _ What? _ “

“I’m not kidding.”

“How could you know if I didn’t even know?”

“Well, I watched Changbin look up to you for a long time, and I thought he’d grow out of it eventually, but when he went straight to you before telling me he was back, I knew not even that much time and that vast of an ocean could have stopped him.”

“What about me?” Minho hazarded to ask. “You don’t hate me for liking him back?”

“I’d hate you if you  _ didn’t _ like him back.” Jisung punched him in the shoulder. “He’s literally the person I look up to the most, he’s been more like my hyung than my dongsaeng for many, many years now, and you’d actually be settling if you dated anyone that  _ wasn’t _ him.”

“I want to tell you you’re being dramatic, but I don’t even kind of disagree. Honestly? How did I get lucky enough to have both of you in my life?”

Minho pulled his best friend into a hug. 

“I feel the same way, Minho. Me, too.” He leaned back and held Minho at arm’s length. “You know I have to say it.”

“You’re going to kill me if I hurt him. I know. I’d leave the country and change my name if that ever happened, you wouldn’t even need to face prison time.”

“Promise?”

Minho locked his pinky with Jisung’s.

“Promise.” 

“Okay, can we eat now? I have laundry to do.”

***

The night after Changbin had his own heart-to-heart with his brother, they went back to the arcade, where Minho won him, with tickets secretly saved up over weekly lunchtime visits, the coveted One Punch Man figurine. Nothing else he’d advertently or inadvertently done to make Changbin happy rivaled  _ that _ scream of pure surprise. 

When they got back to his apartment afterward, Minho watched from Changbin’s bed as he carefully placed the figurine next to the old, plastic one. 

“Seventeen years is a lot of time,” Minho noted as he pulled Changbin so he was sitting in between his legs. He wrapped his arms around his chest, rested his head in his hair. 

“I’ve kept everything you’ve ever given me.”

“Hmm,” he replied contentedly. “I think I remember everything I’ve ever given you.”

“You think so?”

“Test me.”

Changbin got up and dug around in his desk drawer. Returning to the bed, he sat a pressed penny into Minho’s palm.

“Go ahead, genius. When was this?”

Minho examined it closely. There was a braided border around the outside, two turtles smiling in the middle. 

“We went to the zoo the summer after tenth grade, and you were sick. Not even the otters perked you up, so I went to the pressed penny machine while you were distracted and convinced you I got the turtles to make this especially for you.”

Changbin laughed. It was ridiculous then, and even more so now. 

“You kept this?”

“I told you, I kept everything.”

“Well.” Minho stood up from the bed. “Now it’s my turn. I’m keeping everything. Starting with you.”

He admired the pretty blush across Changbin’s cheeks before wrapping his arms around his legs and flinging him over his shoulder. 

“See? Going to have you with me always.”

Changbin kicked at Minho’s back. “Put me down!”

“Absolutely not. Keeping you forever,” Minho replied, but he only carried him as far as the living room couch before laying him down gently. 

A pout resulted, regardless. “I hate how much I like you.” 

Minho kissed his forehead, regardless. “Me, too.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> If the premise of this story intrigues you, I encourage you to check out "Something in the Rain"! I've honestly never watched a drama with this kind of pacing, cinematography, or tone. It was inspiring as hell, and I hope you enjoyed my au!
> 
> I'm never not dying to know you think, so I'd appreciate your feedback in the comments~~
> 
> Kpop with me? [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/leemiknow) | [tumblr](http://www.indifferentyoongi.tumblr.com) | [curious cat](https://www.curiouscat.me/staykid)


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